


Worthy

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Poignant, Romance, Sci-fi/fantasy, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: On the cusp of annihilation, Hermione asks Harry to spend their last Christmas together.





	Worthy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Written for Harmony and Co’s Advent. Thanks to the admins for putting this event together!

Three days left. Many chose to stay home as they counted down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. They pressed kisses on their children’s foreheads. Held their loved ones close.

Had she the luxury of time, Hermione would have envied them. That they had the opportunity to stay put, to let others shoulder responsibilities; that they had others in whom they could find comfort. But, no, there was simply no time for self-pity.

Not with three days left.

She hobbled to the hearth, falling to her knees on the soot-covered brick. Her fingers shook as she struck a matchstick against the rough strip. Cursed as the red nub broke, and fished for another sliver of wood inside the box.

“Here.” Callused fingers took it from her grasp. “Let me try.”

Hermione breathed a laugh, head shaking as her friend snapped a stick in two despite his gentler treatment.

“Blasted things,” she murmured. She rubbed her palms together, a vain effort to stave off numbness from the chilled air.

Green eyes twinkled behind black frames as he regarded her. Through years of madness, in Hogwarts and then at the Ministry as a promising young officer, Harry never lost that spark, that life behind his bright eyes. No death nor circumstance had extinguished it—even now, on the cusp of annihilation.

“Tough to do things without magic, isn’t it?” With a sweep of his fingers, the match in his hand lit with a glorious little flame. He bent over to place it in the kindling, treating the fire as gently as he would a newborn. “You’d think spending the first decade or so of your life as a Muggle would make it easier. But with magic as a crutch, it makes simple things like getting warm challenging.”

She sidled closer, drawn to the light of the fire and the warmth of his proximity. “You seem to be faring all right.”

Harry lifted his shoulders, dropping them artlessly. “Training. All soldiers have to pass a module without using magic. In case we’re deployed in the Muggle world.”

“Ah,” she said, although it came out as a heavy sigh. A twinge in her chest vied for her attention, but she studiously ignored it. This was no time for regret, either—no time to question whether her choice to be tied down to a desk job was better than going on adventures with her best friends. No time—not with three days left before the Cleansing.

Besides, she was certainly getting her fill of adventure now.

Harry glanced at her sidelong, flashing her a look of understanding. “What I wouldn’t give for your bluebell flames right about now.”

She reached over; squeezed his fingers. “Cheers, Harry.”

* * *

Voices layered over each other, fighting to gain attention. Hermione winced. The cabin was too small, and with the addition of key players of the British Ministry of Magic—what was left of them—it felt even more suffocating.

“—to get the Muggle weapons.” Mooring pounded a fist against the shoddy kitchen table. “Their tanks, guns. Nuclear warheads. Whatever they’ve got, we have to convince those damn Muggles to throw it at The Gathering. Or steal it from them so we can do it ourselves.”

The leader of the magical military angled his head. “The Americans have already done that. To no avail,” said General Jacobson, eyes narrowed at his trigger-happy colonel. “Firepower doesn’t work against The Gathering. They’re too hardy. There’s too many of them.”

“And with their ability to nullify all magic…” Kingsley Shacklebolt rubbed a broad hand over his face. He slumped further into his seat.

Hermione tore her gaze away. Seeing the strong, capable Minister for Magic wither under duress twisted something in her belly, and she had too much respect for her immediate superior to watch it happen. Her eyes caught on the grainy photos they managed to get of The Gathering. From a distance, the towering beings looked human. The closer one got, the more apparent the differences: blood red eyes in deep, fist-sized sockets; translucent skin that glowed in the dark; wings that jutted from their upper backs and ended with spear-sharp bones.

The wall was littered with photos of their haunting eyes, their razor-toothed sneers. What they were, where they came from, why they were here...that was still a mystery. Along with all the world’s nations, they sent their people out to gather that information.

None returned. Ron’s face flashed behind her eyes, eager and hungry to prove his worth as a soldier. He was among the earliest casualties against The Gathering.

“Worthy.” Jacobson’s deep timber pulled her back to the ongoing debate. He pinched his square chin as he gazed at a photo on the wall. “They’ll leave when they find a worthy warrior. Or so they claim.”

“But for what?” Kingsley laid both hands flat on the table. “A duel to the death? A sacrifice so the rest of us can survive?” He looked each person in the eye until he settled on the man by Hermione’s side. “No. Never again.”

From the corner of her eye, Harry shifted in his seat. “It was worth it, Kings.”

His determined tone sent a chill down Hermione’s spine.

* * *

The door creaked shut, and the snowmelt-dampened soil masked footsteps. A figure passed her spot by the small kitchen window where she leaned against the wall, hidden by shadows.

“Harry,” she called out.

The figure halted; adjusted the strap on his shoulder before facing her, guilt evident in his eyes.

“Am I really that predictable?” he asked carefully.

She stepped out in full view of the silver moon. “Hmm, let’s see. A force of evil calling for a single hero to face them, thereby sparing the whole of humanity?”

A corner of his lips turned up, mocking a smirk. “Doesn’t that situation have ‘Harry Potter’ written all over it?”

She wrapped her hands around his wrists. “You don’t have proprietary claim over heroics, Harry.”

“I know. You were with me the whole time, fighting by my side.” He turned his wrists and slid his fingers down her forearms until his hands cradled hers. “But, don’t you think I have a good shot at ending this? All these years—I feel like I’ve been fighting evil my whole life!—it had to have been for _something,_  right?” His pleading eyes burrowed into hers. “All of it. Maybe it was so I could be worthy enough for this.”

Hermione shook her head violently. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t go.”

The stubborn look he gave her weighed on her soul. “It’s worth a shot.” He released her and turned away. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

Desperation clawed at her chest. Without a second thought, she grabbed the sides of his face and pulled his head down. His lips met hers, cool and dry from the harsh winter weather. Her tongue ran across his bottom lip.

Instinctively, her body leaned against him. A breath hitched in his chest, but arms enfolded her lower back, bringing her closer.

They stood under a canopy of stars as they had their first kiss. Hermione tried to lose herself—in the expert dance of their tongues, the heat of his touch through her thick cloak—and tried to ignore that voice in her head. The one that insisted this was also to be their last kiss.

Too soon, he pulled back. “Well.” He rested his brow against hers. “That’s one hell of an argument.”

“Did it work?” she asked roughly.

His open stare told her it did not.

“It’s Christmas. If you’re so determined to go…” She cared not about the tremble of her voice—the note of begging that, under normal circumstances, would have made her cringe. Now was not the time for pride. “The nearest encampment of The Gathering is a day’s hike from here. We still have three days left before their deadline. Before the Cleansing.” She gave him a watery smile. “Spend Christmas with me. And tomorrow, if you’re still determined to go,”—she swallowed the lump in her throat—“I won’t put up a fight.”

His gaze hardened, eyebrows furrowed during an internal debate. Then, he blinked, and his expression melted like that morning’s frost. “All right. I’ll stay. One more night.” His arms tightened around her waist. “If this is to be my last—I want to spend it with you.” He leaned down, hovering just above her lips. “For what it’s worth—Happy Christmas, Hermione. And may you have many more to come.”

Her knuckles grazed the top of his cheekbone. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

Those were the last words they spoke for a long while.

* * *

She reached the camp before nightfall the following day. Her muscles cried with overuse, but she didn’t give herself any breaks as she traversed the rough terrain. Couldn’t give Harry the opportunity to catch up. To stop her before she reached The Gathering to offer herself in his place.

A sentinel swooped down, landing in front of her, its force making the ground rumble beneath her feet.

“Why have you come?” it said, though out loud or in her head, Hermione couldn’t determine.

She squared her shoulders and tried not to flinch as she looked into those overlarge, red eyes. “You’ve been looking for a worthy warrior.” Her chin inched up defiantly. “I’m worthy. Take me, and leave this world.”

Her posture locked as the creature took long-legged strides towards her, its white wings gleaming despite the waning light. Without warning, it laid its long palm against her forehead; its spindly fingers gripped her skull.

She gritted her teeth as it ripped through her memories—her brushes with death throughout Hogwarts, her months with Harry and Ron on the run, that final stand in the castle.

It lingered on the fresh, raw memory of Harry, sleeping soundly on a narrow cot, spent from a long—and long-awaited—night.

“You’ve come in place of this man?” the creature asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was grounded, steady.

The creature peered down at her; for what felt like an eternity, she was trapped in its nightmarish gaze. Then, it pulled back, caging her shoulders with its long fingers.

“Am I,”—Hermione took a deep breath—“am I worthy?”

It tilted its chin down, its deep, red sockets pulling her in once again. “Yes.”

Before she could think—before she could bid Harry a silent farewell—the creature wrapped its arms around her.

With a great flap of its wings, her feet left the earth, and she was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos are appreciated.


End file.
